


The Library

by orphan_account



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Library Sex, Squirting, i hope i wrote II okay..., reconciliation and penance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You fail to notice Papa in the library, and are made to pay for it.





	The Library

**Author's Note:**

> This was a suggestion from @loveliestofstars on tumblr. All hail. (Sorry this is unedited and bad but I had to write it. Please give me ideas on how I can write Papa II better aaahhh)
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr @saddestghuleh.

It was raining for the first time in weeks while you were cooped up in the library. You had always been mildly studious--you were one of the sister’s research assistants, after all. But today you wished you could have been in bed, curled up with a slightly more engaging read, and drinking tea. Alas, you were confined to the special collections looking over old texts about haruspicy.

 

You didn’t hear anyone enter until you noticed the swishing of thick robes. Before you looked up you saw him out of your periphery: Papa Emeritus II. You stared back down intently at your pages, feeling your body stiffen. Why was he here? Mass was this evening and you could have sworn you were the only one bothering with the library on a Sunday. A sense of tightening anticipation and anxiety washed over you and you suddenly became incredibly fascinated with the drawings of entrails in your books.

 

You turned the pages without reading them as you listened to him walk between the rows. His robes were loud and his footsteps heavy. He sounded as if he was also in the special collections--should you say something? A hello? Ask for a blessing? You decided against it. You’d heard more than one rumor that the II could be testy--and that was a rumor you didn’t want to test.

 

The Papa fiddle with some books, walked back through the special collections again, fiddled with more books… was he waiting for someone? You heard the thud of a book hitting the floor. You tried to look out of the corners of your eyes again, brows furrowed and wondering what was happening. You could only see the edges of his robes against the floor.

 

He cleared his throat and your eyes shot back to your book. Shit, you hadn’t turned a page in awhile… you flipped it over, reaching the next chapter without reading a single word. Without warning, your face started to burn red. Was he looking at you?

 

Before you could answer your own question, the robes rustled again and you sat up straight as the Papa stood next to you, staring over your shoulder.

 

“Haruspicy.”

 

“Oh-- Your Unholiness!” You nearly bumped into him as you stood. There was no way you could meet his eyes, or even look at his face. Yours was red and warm and your shoulders felt like they were up to your ears.

 

“You’re working before Mass?” Oh no. Were you in trouble?

 

“I, um, wanted to make some progress on my work. Am I… is it alright?”

 

“Look at me.” You were  _ definitely _ in trouble. Looking up, you met his eyes, mismatched and perpetually glaring.

 

“I apologize, Unholy Father, I--”

 

“There’s no need for that.” His voice was stern, but without anger. You audibly sighed before you could catch yourself, only making your face redder. Papa put his heavy hand on your shoulder and you did you best to relax them. He was so much taller than you, larger than life. “But I do expect more adoration from a sister such as yourself.”

 

He took a menacing step toward you, hand still on your shoulder, and you had to crane your neck up to look at him.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Unholy--”

 

“‘Papa’ is fine, sister.” You nodded. “But I am your Papa, you spiritual leader, the head of this Church.”

 

“Yes…” Your voice was a squeak.

 

“I expect reconciliation.”

 

“A-anything I can do Un--Papa.” You didn’t know what was happening. Papa was looming over you, his face unreadable. It was like moving underwater, being so close to him that you could feel the thick vestments brushing the floor at your feet. He almost smiled at your words, your willingness.

 

“Up on the table.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“The table. Right next to you. You’ll take your penance now, sister.” You didn’t know what else to do besides obey. What else could you do? You shrunk back from Papa and boosted yourself up onto the table, sitting with your butt at the edge and back straight. You couldn’t look at him anymore--not in this position.

 

“What is it that you want to confess to me.”

 

“I… I didn’t show you proper admiration, Papa. The proper attention that befits someone of your standing…”

 

“Good. You are forgiven, girl, but you must do your penance.” You nodded. “Open your mouth.” You did, and immediately Papa’s gloved fingers were against your tongue, sliding back toward your throat. When he thrust them back, you gagged, thick saliva forming around them. He fucked your throat with his fingers, letting you choke against them while you tried your best, and failed, to suppress a moan.

“Such a disobedient little slut. I’ll make you sorry for not bowing at my feet.” Papa pulled his fingers from your mouth and slid the along your thighs, leaving wet trails as he moved under your skirt to pull your panties aside. You gasped when he pushed his fingers into you, stretching your pussy and curling up to push against your g-spot. He kept moving them, eliciting louder moans from you that you were powerless to hold back.

 

Before long, you were moving your hips in time with his motions, and almost as soon as he’d started, he pulled them from you with a wet pop. You noticed his gloves were slick with your wetness as Papa brought them back to your lips for you to taste yourself.

 

“Look how wet you’ve become just from this. A nasty girl like you does belong at my feet.” Papa reached back under your skirt to move your panties to the side once more, before hiking up his own robes to reveal his hard, arching cock. (Did he wear nothing beneath them?) Without warning or fanfare, Papa pulled you close and onto his cock. You cried out at the way he stretched you open, your cunt growing wetting as he started thrusting into you.

 

“Papa!”

 

“That’s right. Take it like the slut you are.” The thrusts grew deeper and harder, earning a grunt from Papa. You tried to wriggle away to counteract the deepness bumping against your cervix, but Papa held you into him. Your face was smothered against his large chest and you felt the embroidery pressing into your skin.

 

“Papa, please…”

 

“Please, what? What do you think you deserve?” You bucked your hips into him, ignoring the pain deep in your belly.

 

“P-please… fuck me until I cum, I’m begging you!”

 

“You beg--” a particularly nasty thrust ran through you, “so nicely, I’ll give you what you want, sister.” 

 

Papa laid you back against the table, putting his hands on either side of your face. Bending over you, he began pounding into your cunt until you felt heat boiling up in your stomach. Soon, you were near-incoherent, moaning and begging into his ear. Growling, he knew you were close.

 

“I want you to cum on my cock like a good little slave, because that’s what you are. You’re just holes for me to use, I want you to show me who you belong to.” It only took his harsh words to bring you over the edge.

 

You were cumming in seconds, and before you could stop yourself, your cum was squirting over his cock and onto his vestments. His thrusts became erratic and the wet sounds from your cum filled the empty, silent library.

 

“Fuck, yes… That’s what I wanted from you,” he growled, before one last pump had him spilling hot seed into your pussy. Feeling it fill you up, your face burned red before him. He looked down on you once more as he stood, pulling himself from you. The mix of your fluids puddled on the table. Papa looked you over: your skirt up around your hips and your panties soaked. The edges of his vestments were wet, too, and you wondered if he’d still wear them to Mass.

 

“Your penance is complete, sister. You are free from your bonds of guilt.”

 

“Th-thank you, Papa, Unholy Father…” was all you could manage as your chest heaved. You couldn’t even sit up as he began to walk away.

 

When you did manage to sit upright, more cum spilled from you and onto the table. Your face was flushed and red, and everywhere Papa’s gloved hands had touched you felt like it was on fire. Your studies properly ruined, you got ready to leave. You were nervous for Mass--you always had liked to sit near the front, but you were unable to imagine seeing Papa, your leader, after what he’d just done to you. Perhaps he would still wear those soaking, sex-scented robes to the pulpit… you couldn’t bear to think of it.

Leaving the library and heading to the sanctuary for Mass, you couldn’t help but feel the eyes of ghouls on you, as if they could smell Papa on you. You let yourself smile only slightly as you took your seat in the pew and Papa came out, wearing exactly what he had been in the library, knowing the remnants of your penance remained.

  
  



End file.
